


I Guess You Never Really Left

by Aruse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Human AU, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Michifer - Freeform, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:00:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruse/pseuds/Aruse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael's loved Lucifer since he was born because he was told to. Lucifer's loved Michael since they were teenagers because he was told not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Guess You Never Really Left

" Lucifer... "

Michael gripped at his brother's shoulders, careful not to touch the thick scars just under his shoulderblades. His legs wrapped tight around Lucifer's hips, Michael's heels digging into his lower back where his ankles were crossed. Lucifer held Michael gently. The hands on his hip and the back of his neck kept him in place, not in a controlling manner, but as a reminder that Lucifer had him. Lucifer always had him.

A small cry left Michael's lips with a particularly deep thrust from Lucifer. The hushed sound left Michael and went straight to Lucifer, pulling a moan from him, his hands tightening. He needed his mouth on his brother, needed to mark him up with his teeth and nails and scruff anyway he could. His decided form of contact was to mar his brother's throat with his teeth. There was no pressure behind it, nothing threatening (though Michael wouldn't protest if there were). It was, though, a sigh of ownership, control, possession, and Michael relished in it for the few moments it lasted.

"Micha," Lucifer whispered. The small utterance pulled him back in. His honey eyes met Lucifer's December skies, both of their breaths coming out a bit rushed, panted air between their faces. That was all they needed.

Lucifer raised himself to his knees and moved both of his hands to Michael's hips before moving even slower, drawing out the shared pleasure. The soft touches Lucifer traced over his brother's hipbones seemed to slow everything even more. The moment was so intimate that release felt secondary to both of them, their focus mainly on each other. Breaths shared, eyes locked, Lucifer's hand bringing Michael's down and fingers linked over the pillow.

" I love you... "

The words uttered by both brothers in unison. A prayer in the darkness, a symphony against the heat of skin, a promise with the release.

\--

Michael cried harder than his mother had when he got the call.

"It was late," Gabriel had said, his voice rough with lack of sleep and the tears he'd deny shedding. "It wasn't Lucifer's fault. People are assholes, lying, thieving assholes. They would have killed him, you know. He's lucky women care more about strangers than men do, and that women have the intelligence to carry pepper spray... He's at St. Andrew's if you want to see him, but it's pretty bad."

Michael hadn't responded, just hung up and dropped his phone on the kitchen table next to the newspaper open to the article about the recent mugging that had happened to Lucifer Novak.  Local Woman Saves Man From Attacker the headline had read. Michael made it halfway through, to the part that described the wounds. Hunting knife was all it listed as the weapon.

"Fingers and ribs and noses and jawbones aren't broken with hunting knives," Michael had growled before swiping his arm across the table, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the room as he held his face in his hands and wept, crying like he hadn't since Lucifer left. Since Lucifer left him. Three days passed before Balthazar stopped by and cleaned up the glass and newspaper and food that had been on the plate. Michael only shoved Balthazar out in thanks, threatening him when he'd said they all had felt pain over Lucifer, and Michael wasn't as special as he so desperately needed to believe

"You don't understand!" Michael had yelled, inches from Balthazar's face. "You never will! I love him, and I couldn't save him, help him, anything! He could have fucking died!"

Balthazar left with tears in his eyes and a vow to tell Gabriel not to bother with Michael, the words at which Michael cringed. Two weeks after that Lucifer was released from the hospital.

He had been in no shape to live on his own for a while, and hadn't had bearly enough money for a live in nurse. Gabriel worked two jobs and would 't be around enough to stay with him. Balthazar had all but alienated himself from everyone except Gabriel. Their father traveled and their mother smoked and drank, and Castiel was too young and still lived with her.

Michael had been the only option, with him working from home at the time and his lack of tobacco, alcohol, and excess of availability. He'd lived just a few blocks from the hospital.

His spare room was converted to a room that could accommodate Lucifer. That just meant a few more blankets and a pillow. Of course Michael added his own touches, though. He bought a blown glass vase the color of the ocean and placed it on the nightstand, filling it with white roses. He hung a painting of a storm over the ocean on the empty nail in the wall across from the bed. The closet and dresser were cleaned, hangers hung in the closet, a deep blue and champagne rug placed in the middle of the floor.

Instead of the thick curtains Michael found in the closet, he hung up thin white curtains he'd been given as a gift from his grandmother in her old age, Michael having seen no real use for them until now. They let in enough light that the small fixture in the middle of the ceiling would only have to be used at night or if it rained. If the windows were opened, even a light breeze would blow the curtains into the room. Along with the sea cottage blue walls and the new additions, Michael felt confident that Lucifer would like the room.

The last thing added to the room was a picture of Michael and Lucifer that was sat on the dresser opposite the door to the room.

Both brothers were much younger in the picture, Lucifer fifteen and Michael sixteen. It was one of the pictures Michael had taken after their third time together. Lucifer was half asleep with a soft smile on his face, his chest pressed to Michael's left side, his head tucked under his older brother's jaw. He had his hand curled over Michael's chest.

Michael's left arm was wrapped around Lucifer's shoulders, pulling him close. Michael's cheeks were flushed, the picture having been taken only a few minutes after they had both come down from their post cotial highs. His head was turned and his eyes closed, his bitten red lips tickled by Lucifer's soft blond hair as he smiled wider than Lucifer, but no teeth showed. The picture didn't relay it, but both boys were naked, their lower halves out of the frame, Lucifer's left leg tossed over and between Michael's.

Lucifer threw the picture at the wall when he'd noticed it the first night.

\--

The night before Lucifer moved in, Michael dug out the box of their old photos.

There were the ones he'd taken that night in San Francisco when he was twenty one and Lucifer twenty, wide smiles on their faces in almost every one. His favorite was the one of Lucifer in a sombrero drinking a bottle of Corona, the outdoor bar in the background lit with tiki torches and small, cheap lanterns that could be bought from any dollar store.

Some of the pictures had been taken by Lucifer. They were of Michael in the driver's seat, the windows rolled down and the desert wind whipping into the car. The expanse of the desert was splayed out behind Michael as he drove. He wasn't smiling in the first few, but Lucifer had managed to capture the exact moment he had seen the camera. Even with his aviators on, the surprise was clear on Michael's face. He smiled in the rest.

While most were of him smiling, laughing, singing to the radio, there were a few of just the desert. One showed the highway in front of them without a single car on it, the asphalt seeming to go on forever. Some of these pictures captured the heat of the desert, the plants on the side of the road sun scorched and withered almost to dust, red dirt blowing in the distance.

There was a lone picture of Lucifer sitting at a small table in the natural light of a motel Michael knew was in the middle of no where Alabama. He was concentrated on an open book of puzzles in front of him, the one Michael had given him for his birthday a few weeks before. They were traveling at the time, so money had to go to things like gas and food and cheap motel rooms, not things like birthday presents. Though Michael had splurged and bought a small cake for Lucifer, complete with a candle proclaiming, 'It's a boy!', which Lucifer had laughed at.

"It was the cheapest one," Michael had said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Lucifer laughed even harder.

"I love it," he had said smiling, kissing his brother gently.

Then there were the photos of Lucifer laid out on the thin sheets of a Florida motel mattress. His hair was a mess in one, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his face twisted in pleasure and concentration, hands out of frame holding desperately to Michael's hips. In another, a pale blue sheet laid over Lucifer's hip as he slept. The picture was taken from behind him, only the back of his head resting on the pillow and his smooth, slightly bowed back were visible, his legs and most of his ass cover by the sheet haphazardly thrown over himself.

Michael had to say his favorite of this set was of Lucifer with tears in his eyes as they sat on the beach. Lucifer's eyes were closed, but wet trails streaked down his skin. His face was turned toward the starlit sky over the ocean, a soft smile on his lips, his knees pulled up and his arms resting on them. They were young and stupid and rebellious... And Michael had proposed.

\--

"I'm sorry," Lucifer whispered when Michael had run into his room, the loud crash pulling him away from his book. Glass was shattered across the floor, a broken picture frame and a picture as well. Michael only nodded. He left and got a broom and dust pan, cleaning up the mess with tears in his eyes that he wouldn't dare let Lucifer see. He threw the glass and frame away, but kept the picture in his room, under his pillow, feeling like a lovestruck teen again.

"It's fine," Michael said the next morning at breakfast as he sat across from Lucifer, his hands folded in his lap, his food gone cold. "You said sorry last night. I'm saying it's fine. It was just a picture. It doesn't matter..."

"That's not...," Lucifer tried. His voice was gravely and thick, and he coughed a few times. "I wasn't thinking. I apologize."

Michael wasn't looking at his brother. He fumed, anger boiling in his chest as Lucifer's words sunk beneath his skin. He knew Lucifer had been thinking when he hurled that memory at the drywall.

"Clean your own fucking stitches," Michael spat, pushing back from the table and storming out.

"Michael!" Lucifer called, standing up too fast. Pain ripped through his body, causing him to sit back down. His back hurt worst of all. The twin scars running under his shoulder blades had been deep, the doctor telling him that they would take the most time to heal. Ten inches long, bone showing between flaps of skin, tendons and ligaments and muscle and blood pushing out. He'd been awake when they'd stitched him up, too little time to administer any numbing agents. Lucifer had said he could take it. He couldn't.

He'd cried in the hospital bed for nearly an hour after, until the pain went numb, which the doctors didn't like. They poked and prodded, trying to bring back feeling. Lucifer threatened them with more than a few malpractice suits if they didn't stop. In the end, it wasn't until he was told that he'd be staying with Michael that he'd cried the hardest.

\--

Lucifer's jaw healed faster than anyone had thought it would, the same going for his nose, ribs, and fingers. Once he was sure he was okay to go about on his own, he tried to talk Michael into letting him leave, to go back to his apartment.

"No," Michael said firmly. "You still need me, ah, someone. You could get dizzy, or seriously hurt yourself. I'm responsible for you, and I am not letting you hurt, or possibly kill, yourself."

They'd slammed their doors that night, both falling asleep with tears in their eyes. Michael did because he figured he needed Lucifer more than he needed him, and because he wanted to hold him, tell him he'd be okay, and that Michael was sorry he couldn't be there for him. Lucifer cried because he knew Michael was right, new he wasn't well enough to be on his own. He hadn't told anyone, but the mugging hadn't just hurt him physically, but emotionally as well. He'd cried himself to sleep almost every night since it happened, whispering that he wanted it to end, that he was still scared and still felt vulnerable, exposed.

Lucifer woke up at three in the morning, heart pounding and a thin film of cold sweat over his body, hands shaking and breath coming out in rasps. The walk to Michael's room had felt like walking across hot coals, agonizing and slow, the fear of being turned away again clawing at the back of his mind. He knocked a few times before Michael answered with red rimmed eyes and a tissue clutched in his hand.

Michael invited him in, sitting him down on the bed with only a few inches distance between them. He saw Lucifer's hands shaking, the sweat, heard the rough breathing. Taking his hands, Michael kissed Lucifer slowly. The surprise and hesitation Michael expected didn't come. Lucifer pulled his hands away and clutched the front of his brother's shirt, holding him close and their lips slotted together and tears finally slipped from his eyes.

"I missed you, brother," Michael whispered.

 

"I have missed you, too," Lucifer answered.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is, but I kinda liked it. And I'm sorry about the title, I couldn't come up with anything better.


End file.
